


Absolutely Faithless, Particularly Shameless

by Isis



Category: Canadian Actor RPF, Canadian Actor RPF (C6D)
Genre: Anal, Dirty Talk, F/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-22
Updated: 2006-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:32:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly wants to hear about him and Hugh.  Callum just wants to get laid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolutely Faithless, Particularly Shameless

**Author's Note:**

> Written for justbreathe80. Thanks to Malnpudl for beta.

The good thing about doing _Twitch City_ , thinks Callum, is that it's like hanging around in your living room. Shooting in the neighborhood, working with old friends like Molly, coming home at night to his apartment instead of having to sleep in a ratty trailer somewhere.

The bad thing about doing _Twitch City_ is that Molly is ... hanging around in his living room. And, okay, he likes her – likes working with her, likes flirting with her – and when she said she wanted to run lines over a pizza, he figured, fine, he could use the prep for tomorrow. Except they finished the pizza and the lines twenty minutes ago, and Hugh, on the road somewhere, is supposed to call. And Molly's asking him inane questions about what he thinks of the series, and she's stretched out on the sofa like she fucking owns the place.

And he can't just kick her out. For one thing, it would be rude; but more importantly, she'll tease him relentlessly, and that would make doing _Twitch City_ a whole lot less fun. So he just nods, stubs out the butt of his cigarette, and says, yeah, doing _Twitch City_ was a kick, and maybe he should get some sleep for the early call.

Molly fails to take the hint. "But it's kind of a let-down for you, isn't it?"

"What do you mean, a let-down?"

"After _due South_. Going from the sexy lead of a big American show to a convenience-store clerk in a little home-grown production."

He shrugs. "It's still Toronto. Anyway, Paul was the sexy lead. I was just the new guy who got hate mail from everyone who liked the other guy better."

"You're sexy in your own way, and you know it. And apparently Paul knows it too," she adds, raising a perfectly-arched eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah," he snorts.

"I heard he wanted you to play up the sexy overtones. The _homoerotic_ overtones," she says, licking her lips around the word. "Get women all hot and bothered over the idea of the two of you together."

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair and thinks about lighting another cigarette. Yeah, they'd played it up, played around with it, but the way Molly is looking at him, sprawled languorously on the couch, her eyes dark and half-lidded – it makes it hard to joke about bored housewives, seeing her like that. It makes him feel a little hot and a little horny, and considering that he is already keyed up, thinking about Hugh calling, it's like someone turned up the thermostat five degrees. "Wasn't much. Just PG-rated stuff."

"Too bad," she says. "I bet you wish it hadn't been."

"For God's sake, he's _married_."

"So?" She slants another sultry look at him. "I figure you must be into guys now. Considering you haven't jumped me yet. You didn't used to be able to resist me." She wiggles her hips, grinning.

That is hardball, that's not playing fair, because she's right. Neither of them have ever been able to resist each other. Whenever they'd both been in LA at the same time, they had always ended up in the same bed. They'd agreed it was just nice to be with another Canadian in the sprawl and glitter of the quintessential American city. That after the tension of reading for parts and waiting impatiently for callbacks, an uncomplicated fuck was just a good way to relax.

But they have sparks, serious sparks. Especially when they're shooting together, playing romantic for the cameras; that's what made the scenes they did together good, that the camera could tell he wanted to get her out from under the lights and fuck her, that she was getting all wet for him under her dress. _Paris or Somewhere_ hadn't been a great movie, but he'd sure managed to get laid a lot while they were making it.

Five years later, and she can still turn him on with one heated look. She knows it, too; she's looking at his crotch, at his cock firming in his jeans, and if he doesn't want her to know that the other part of what she'd said is dead-on, he is going to have to do something. Not that it will be any great hardship.

So he runs a hand through his hair, pastes a cocky grin on his face, and stands up. Taking the three steps to the couch, he looks down at her. "Yeah, I still like girls. That what you wanted to know?"

Her voice is husky. "You still like _me_?"

"Baby, I'll always like you." He puts one knee beside her hip, swings his other leg over her, and she laughs. Her laugh is throaty and full, and it hits him right at the base of his spine. He reaches to trail a finger along the long line of her arched neck, and he can feel himself getting harder, and yeah, having sex in person is better than doing it over the damn phone.

"That's what I like to hear," she murmurs, as he lowers himself down for a kiss. Her mouth is hot and tastes like garlic and tomato; she wraps her arms around his back and pulls him down against her body. Her long legs slide up, crumpling her skirt into a wad between them, and he slips his hand along the hot skin of one thigh.

She twists to force his hand farther up her thigh, between her legs. Delicately he brushes his fingers just inside the damp silk of her underwear, listening to her breathing change, listening to the soft moaning noises coming from her throat.

That's when the phone rings.

"Don't answer it," Molly says against his mouth. She licks a trail of delicate kisses up his cheekbone to his ear. "Don't you dare." Her breath is hot in his ear, making him shiver.

The phone rings again.

"Fuck, Molly –"

"Don't you _dare_ ," she repeats, her hands sliding to cup his ass and pull him in, forcing his hand, trapped between them, to press harder against her cunt. He freezes against her as the phone rings a third time, and then his own voice, which always sounds weird to him, barks: "This is Callum. Leave a message."

"Pick up the phone, cocksucker."

Molly's lips curve in a smile. "Is that, like, a euphemism?"

"Fuck you," says Callum, as Hugh's voice gets louder. "Come on, cuntface, pick up the fucking phone. You said you were – fuck, I'm not doing this. The show's at eleven – call me by nine or don't fucking bother."

"And that was?" Her eyes are bright, boring into him like laser sights on a rifle, like she's dialing him into her crosshairs, and he knows he's screwed.

"Hugh," he sighs. Her expression doesn't change. "Hugh Dillon. The Headstones. He was –"

"He was in _Hard Core Logo_ , yeah, I know. I was in it too, remember?"

"Yeah, you had _so_ many lines," he says, and they both laugh, and a little of the tension seeps away. Then the calculating look returns to her eyes.

"So you're fucking him?"

"Jesus, Molly," he sputters.

"Oh, he's fucking you. Even better." She smiles up at him, an innocent, sweet smile, but he knows from experience that it hides pure deviltry.

"I thought I was fucking you." He lets his hand unfurl under her skirt, punctuates his statement with a thrust of his fingers against her wetness. Maybe it will distract her, he thinks. He's good at acting, lying for the camera, but it's different with Molly. They both know each other too well.

"I think it's hot," she says, licking at her lips. She pushes him up a bit so she can start working on his clothes. "Tell me about it."

He closes his eyes. "There's nothing to tell."

His shirt comes off, and she moves to his jeans. Dexterously her fingers pop the top button, then slide the zipper, and he feels her warm hand curve around his cock. Yeah, this is good, this is better than his own hand on his cock, and anyway, his hand's busy feeling up Molly, and that's pretty damn good, too.

Suddenly her fingers are gone. He opens his eyes.

"Tell me. Does he blow you?" She licks her lips again, a deliberately lascivious gesture.

"Are _you_ going to blow me?" he says, but it comes out ragged and unsteady, and her smile widens.

"Maybe. Does he?"

Callum exhales. What does he have to lose? She's got him figured out, anyway. And it's clearly what she wants to hear; he can always fall back on that, he decides, so he lets a look of resignation cross his features. "Okay. Yeah. He does."

Heat flares in her eyes. "Then I do." She pushes him back against the arm of the couch and slides out from under him. He lifts his legs so she can pull off his jeans, then tugs at her skirt.

She does a little strip-tease for him, there in his living room, and twirls in front of him naked except for the pale pink underwear she's got on, just a little ribbon and a scrap of silky cloth that's darkened with her moisture. Molly's got a dancer's body, long legs and tiny tits, and it never fails to turn him on.

A final twirl, and she gracefully slides onto the couch, her chin on his naked thigh, her mouth hovering tantalizingly above his cock. When she speaks, the hot puffs of her breath caress his cock. "So what does he do?"

Christ, thinks Callum, and he struggles to keep a straight face. "He deep-throats me, then I pull out and come all over his face. How about it?"

"Callum, you doofus. Tell me a story." Delicately she gives the head of his cock a single lick.

Clearly that's all he's going to get until he gives in. It's just a story, he tells himself. "He sucks my cock until I come." She inhales sharply, bends to take him into her mouth, and he thinks, God, _finally_ , but after swirling her tongue once around his cock she pulls off and looks at him again.

"Come on. I want a blow-by-blow." She grins at her own cleverness, then licks him again, teasingly, with just the tip of her tongue.

He hates this. He's no good at making stuff up out of thin air; he's got to have the lines, got to have them memorized. That's why he avoids interviews, because they always ask him questions designed to throw him off, to make him stammer and maybe let something real slip.

But she wants to hear about him and Hugh. He doesn't have to make it up out of thin air.

"Okay," he says slowly. "Okay, so he comes over and he's in a pissy mood, he just wants to fuck." He watches her give a little shiver as she lowers her mouth to suck him again; yeah, this is what she wants to hear. "They're recording, it's not going well, and he's got all this frustrated energy, right? He comes over, knocks me against the wall and sticks his tongue in my mouth."

Molly's doing something with her tongue, too, and it's hard to concentrate on what he's saying. He looks over at the wall, remembering how Hugh backed him up, grabbed his ass, ground his dick against Callum's crotch and took his mouth like he was trying to prove something. "I hate this fucking shit," Hugh had said, when he'd finally pulled away. "Same fucking track six times. Let's fuck."

Not that he's going to say that to Molly, who's looking at him expectantly around her mouthful of cock. But he doesn't want her to stop, he's got to say _something_. "So he pulls open my pants, okay?" She's got a hand around the base of his dick, sliding it back and forth on the slick of her saliva, and it's almost painful to turn his attention away from what he's doing and think about what to say. "He undoes his pants, and he undoes mine, and, uh, yeah, that's good, just like that."

Fuck, he shouldn't have gotten distracted, because she slides her mouth off him. "So what does he do?"

"He grabs my hand and puts it on his dick. I give him a couple of good strokes," he says, and yeah, that does it, that gets her mouth back where it belongs. "I squeeze him a couple of times, okay, and then he hits the ground and swallows my cock." It sounds kind of stupid to him, like the exaggerated dirty talk in porno movies, but Molly's into it, she's wriggling around, and the hand that isn't on his cock is – is – _fuck_. Her other hand is tucked into her panties and she's rubbing herself, she's pressing hard against her clit, and as he watches she takes a deep breath and her mouth stops moving and she comes, quietly but unmistakably, and it's weird but it's sexy, and his mouth goes dry.

After a moment he realizes she's looking at him again, waiting for more. He gives her more, he gets more, that's the game here, and if she wants to play, he can do it. Maybe he'll up the ante.

"So he sucks my cock," he says, and lets his legs fall open, just a little. "He's got his mouth on my cock, and, and, he's got his hand wrapped around it, like that, yeah, and he sucks on his finger and he slides it up my ass."

She sucks on her finger. She slides it up his ass.

Fuck, yeah.

He lets his eyes fall closed and tries to imagine that it's Hugh, fingerfucking him, opening him up. He remembers how Hugh had sucked him for a couple of minutes, then pulled off and announced that he was fucking ready to fuck him, and where the fuck was the lube? They'd stumbled to the bedroom and kicked their shoes off, pulled off their pants, and Hugh had shoved into him so hard he was aching the rest of the night.

But the finger is slender rather than blunt, moving slowly and gently, and he can feel Molly's soft hair brushing his balls as her mouth slides on his cock. It doesn't matter, it's okay that it's Molly, and he groans as she presses in just the right place before slipping her fingers out of his ass and his cock out of her mouth.

Right, he stopped talking. He opens his eyes, expecting her to chide him, but she's breathing hard, looking dazed, and she wriggles up onto his lap and kisses him. "Let's fuck."

"Sounds like a plan," he says, relieved. Maybe she's had enough of Hugh for one night.

Molly has a rubber in her purse, which is closer than the ones in his nightstand, and she rolls it onto him quickly and efficiently. Then she hooks a finger through the ribbon-like strap of her panties and pulls them down, straddles his thighs, and lowers herself onto his dick. Christ, she's wet, she's _dripping_ , and it feels even better than her mouth.

He caresses her shoulders, plays with the fine dip of her collarbone, runs his fingers back and forth across her breasts until her nipples stick straight out, tempting his mouth, so he takes one and sucks on it until she moans. She presses one of his hands to her cunt and he obediently circles his fingertips lightly until she shudders again.

Callum slides his hands down to her hips and starts to move, to really _move_ , he's ready to come, it's his turn, but she puts her hands on his shoulders and slips up and off him.

"Hey, come on," he says.

"I want to try something else." She pivots away from him and kneels, putting her hands on the arm of the couch and her ass in the air, and suddenly he realizes she's not done with Hugh yet, after all.

Molly's got a great ass, small and curvy, and hey, she wants to pretend she's his boyfriend, he doesn't mind. He gets up on his knees behind her and slides back in.

"Mm," she says. "Not quite." But she thrusts back against him a couple of times before tilting her hips so he slips out again. Looking back over her shoulder at him, she murmurs, "Do me like you do him."

Holy fuck. "You are one crazy lady, you know that."

"You love it."

"Yeah, I do," he says, and he dips two fingers into her cunt, and hell, she's got all the lube they need, right there. He gets her ass good and slippery before pushing in; he has to go slowly this time, and she gasps as he moves against her, but when he's buried deep, it feels incredible.

Bending over her, he licks the tiny beads of sweat from her back. Salt and clean skin. He mouths the bony curve of her spine, tonguing a trail to her neck, then moves her hair so it's all hanging across her right shoulder and he can whisper into her left ear. "You like this?"

"Yeah, it's good," she says. "You like it?"

"I like you any way I can get you, you know it." Callum thrusts, easy and slow. Yeah, he likes it. She's slick and hot, squeezing him tightly, it's real good. He puts a hand on her hip, and pulls her back into him; then he gets an idea and slides his other hand between her legs.

It's weird but kind of cool to feel his cock moving on the other side of the thin wall of flesh, to press into her cunt and feel something pressing back. And this is something he can't do with Hugh, can't do with any man; it's as if his body is telling Molly that she can pretend anything she likes, but in the end it's just him and her, just a man and a woman.

She's working him now, twisting and squeezing, clenching around his finger and his cock, fucking him back, encouraging him to move faster; so he does, faster and faster, stroking his own cock through her body, until the sensation builds to the breaking point and he comes, panting heavily across her back.

He wants to lie there and just breathe for a couple of hours. But they're both sweaty, and the heat between their bodies makes him itch, so he slides gently from her body.

"We should do that more often," says Molly, turning over so she's lying with her head propped up on the arm of the couch, her legs across his lap. With her hair in a loose fan across her shoulders, she looks maybe eighteen years old, a debauched angel. An angel he's just fucked in the ass. Christ.

"Yeah, right. You trying to kill me?"

"Nah, I wouldn't want to make Bruce have to replace you," she says, grinning.

"Hey, I'm irreplaceable." He nudges at her legs, and she swings off him so he can get up, dump the condom, get dressed. Molly pulls her own clothes on and touches up her lipstick, then puts a hand on his arm.

"Sorry I made you miss your phone call." She doesn't look sorry at all.

He shrugs. "I'll tell Hugh it was your fault."

"I'll make it up to him," she says, and he looks at her sharply. She grins. "Think he'd be interested?"

"You and him?" Callum's not sure if the idea makes him jealous or turned on.

"You and him. And me."

Turned on, definitely. Although then he'd have to explain to Hugh how it was that Molly knew about them, and _that_ thought was enough to put a serious damper on the idea right there. But it wasn't like the three of them were likely to be in the same place anytime soon.

* * *

_Hey Callum,_

As Liz probably told you, we got the funding for a second season, so we're firming up the schedule for episode 7. Here's the script. I'm thinking about seeing if Hugh Dillon's available for the convenience store guy, what do you think? Be pretty cool to get you guys together again. Molly suggested it, believe it or not, but I think it's a great idea.

Bruce

PS Molly said to say hi.


End file.
